Cutting Back
by Diamond-04
Summary: "Mycroft was really quite fond of blood, and he could dry up up to three healthy adults in the course of a night, if he felt like it. Sherlock openly disapproved, and very loudly too. After years of enduring his comments on his 'overfed physique' and 'morbid appetite' -Sherlock's own words- Mycroft decided it was high time to prove his brother wrong."
1. Chapter 1

It had taken Mycroft decades to get Sherlock to drink human blood regularly, as he was supposed to. Well, to be perfectly honest, he was actually quite keen on it on the first days after his transformation, but completely refused to let a drop pass his lips after about a week from the day. It happens like that sometimes; vampires can't fully embrace their nature, and though Sherlock would never admit to having residual feelings for mortals, it was clear to Mycroft that that was the only feasible explanation for his constant refusal to view them as merely food -which they clearly were. Centuries later, however, he had finally come to terms with the fact that he needed it -however ocasionally-, and didn't mind indulging every once in a while. And Mycroft would gladly take care of the bodies, of course.

Still, Sherlock could never fully accept his brother's 'regime', to Mycroft's quiet despair. Mycroft was really quite fond of blood, and he could dry up up to three healthy adults in the course of a night, if he felt like it. Sherlock openly disapproved, and very loudly too. After years of enduring his comments on his 'overfed physique' and 'morbid appetite' -Sherlock's own words- Mycroft decided it was high time to prove his brother wrong. True, he had never gone without for longer than a night, and there was no denying there was a very definite curve on his midle, but he was certain that his brother's remarks were not more than exaggerations; he could very well cut back, and easily as well. He wouldn't Sherlock of his intentions yet, however, not until he had succesfully got over the first week at least.

Waking up to an empty stomach was never a plesant feeling, but the first night of Mycroft's 'diet', he felt particularly miserable about it. He knew he was going to have to spend the night in the office, as usual, and that work would distract him, if only for a bit, but he was certain he wouldn't be able to completely shake off the urge to forget the promises he had made to himself and beg his PA for a human, uncouncious and ready to be bitten.

The first hours of the night weren't too terrible. In fact, he managed to work nonstop for at least three hours, but then, of course, his brother decided to interrupt. Mycroft cursed his luck. Of all nights, Sherlock had decided to drop by the one he needed to be alone the most.

It didn't take more than a look from Sherlock for him to realize that Mycroft had not fed yet for the night. A sly smile appeared on his face as he innocently pointed out that Mycroft was looking a bit paler than usual. Mycroft dismissed the remark and spoke without raising his eyes from the papers on his desk.

-Is there anything I can help you with, brother? I'm busy, as you can see.

Sherlock raised his eyebrows in faked surprise.

-I'm quite offended, Mycroft. I thought you'd be glad to see me; it's been weeks.

Mycroft managed a smile as he looked at Sherlock in the eye.

-Very well, if it's quality time you want. It'd be a first, but...

Sherlock dropped the act immediately after hearing Mycroft's words.

-Don't be riddiculous. I just came here to feed, as usual.

Sherlock's eyes were fixed on his brother's. Mycroft couldn't refrain from frowning.

-I've been sending food to your place for months now.

-I dislike being watched when I feed, you know that. And your boys refuse to leave before I'm done. Seriously, I could get rid of the corpses myself.

Mycroft cocked his head to the side with a tired smile on his face.

-Yet, you don't.

Sherlock huffed.

-Not immediately. What's the rush? They are already dead.

-The neighbours complain about the smell, Sherlock, I've told you.- Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose as he spoke. -But nevermind.- He sighed and forced another smile.

-You can go to the basement right now, there's plenty for you to chose from.

The smile on Sherlock's face when he stood up to leave was not reasuring at all. Mycroft knew was that he was up to something.

Only minutes later, Sherlock reapeared carrying a gaunt woman in his arms. She was barely concious, and her head swaggered around as he walked. Droplets of blood fell from her recently bitten neck.

-What on earth do you think you are doing!?

Mycroft stood as his brother sat on the couch on the other side of the office, gently cradling the woman in his arms.

-Have you gone completely insane? These are natural hardwood floors, and now they're soaked in blood, for God's sake Sherlock!

Sherlock said nothing, only sat there, with a half smile on his face, slowly licking the remains of blood on his lips. He ran a finger on the woman's cheek and her breathing accelerated slightly.

Mycroft was about to take Sherlock outside his office with his own two hands when the smell hit him. He stood there, frozen in place, as his nostrils filled with the scent of fresh blood for the first time since the night before. He was starving. He barely noticed when he involuntarily licked his lips. By some miracle, though, he broke out of that state of trance and quickly covered his nose and mouth with his hand.

-Get. out.

Sherlock managed to remain calm and collected. His smile widened but a bit.

-I just thought I'd share.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlcok moved her head ever so slightly, only so that her wound would be directly facing his brother.

-You haven't fed yet tonight. So it wouldn't be like you to say no to an offer like this, Mycroft. It may lead me to think something was up.

The smile on his face was as devious as they come.

-I said get out, Sherlock! Contrairily to what you may believe, I do not have to explain myself to you.

Mycroft tried to walk over to his brother, but stopped midway there; the smell was too stong for him to stand.

Instead, Sherlock effortlessly stood and walked over to him, still carrying his victim in his arms. It took all of Mycroft's strength not to back away.

-She doesn't have too long, brother. You should hurry.

When Sherlock tried to move closer, Mycroft took a step back.

-You know I can't.

Sherlock's smile was wide enough for his teeth to be showing by now. There was still blood in his mouth.

-Of course I do. I just like watching you squirm. Now, are you going to take her?

There was only a second of hesitation in which Mycroft eyed the girl on his brother's arms, but, of course, it was enough for Sherlock to notice. Mycroft huffed in faked indignation.

-Definitely not! Take her out of here this instant, Sherlock, or you will be sorry.

Neither moved for a second.

-Now, Sherlock.

Defiying his brother's warning, Sherlock bit again into her neck, opening a new wound, and sucked energetically. As he fed, he stared at his brother with blood-shot eyes. Mycroft scowled. Within seconds, she was dead. Sherlock put her back on the couch.

-You take her out.

He began walking out of the office.

-Sherlock!

His brother didn't respond to Mycroft calling his name, and Mycroft stood there feeling helpless -something only Sherlock had the capability to make him feel.

Mycroft looked back at the lifeless body laying on his couch and sighed. He could have someone remove it immediately, but the fabric would need cleaning, and the floors... That would have to wait till morning, at least. He concluded wouldn't be able to get any work in the office that night.


	3. Chapter 3

Mycroft called security and the body was removed from his office faster than he could notice. The smell of blood, of course, lingered. He collapsed on his chair and huffed with frustration. He could have gone through the night perfectly all right, but Sherlock had a nose for this kind of thing. Mycroft shouldn't have expected less of him.

-Sir?

His assistant's head appeared timidly through the door.

-You have a phone call, sir. Line two. It's the chancellor.

Finally. Something to distract himself with.

-Thank you.

An honest smile appeared on his face. It'd be a long night, no doubt, but he'd make it through it. He unwittingly sniffed. That smell would better be gone by the next night.

Mycroft was exhausted by the end of the night. Completely drained. He didn't recall having been this tired ever since he had turned. As a human, it was usual to feel a bit under the weather after a challenging day at work, but vampires were different. Or so he had thought.

He collapsed into the bed, his stomach grumbling in protest. It even hurt a bit, if he thought about it for too long. He ran a cold hand over it, but it didn't make it any better. Still, he managed to fall asleep even faster than he had anticipated.

He dreamt of blood.

He awoke the next night with the unmistakable feeling of being watched. A voice called his name. He sprung out of bed, not very gracefully, to be completely honest. In fact, he got a bit tangled in the sheets and only by miracle managed not to fall face first to the floor.

Sherlock's devious smile greeted him from the other end of the room. Mycroft took a hand to his forehead.

-Oh, for God's sake. It's barely night, Sherlock.

Sherlock shrugged ever so slightly.

-I just came to check on you.

Mycroft sighed as he gathered his clothes for the night.

-Of course you have.

Mycroft struggled into his trousers.

-Dinner?

Sherlock's voice bared more joy than Mycroft had heard coming from him in centuries. Mycroft couldn't find the tie he wanted. He cursed under his breath.

-You've fed just yesterday.

As he finished putting on his clothes, Sherlock took a few steps towards him.

-I didn't mean for me.

Mycroft rose to full height. He had always been a bit taller than his brother, and he had, occasionally, taken advantage of that fact. Sherlock did not seem too impressed this time.

-Fine. If you're still sulking, I'll come back later. I'll bring take out.

Mycroft watched his brother walk away. He didn't doubt Sherlock would return, but he was pleased that he was leaving now.

On the other hand, he noticed he was feeling positively sick. Now, bloodlust for a vampire is not exactly the same as human hunger. It is much more similar to a drug detox, in fact. That is what blood is to a vampire, not just sustenance, but a high unlike that of any narcotic known to man. And Mycroft was craving it like he never had before.

He steadied his breathing and headed for the office. He would make it through the night if it was the last thing he ever did.


	4. Chapter 4

The office smelled like lilacs. He hated the smell, but it was infinitely better than the smell of blood. He sat down at his desk trying not to sniff too hard. He would find the scent of blood behind the flowery stink if he really tried and he knew it.

A stack of papers sat by his side and he almost smiled at the sight of it, but his stomach was churning too bad and his mouth was far too dry for him to be actually pleased about anything that night. He cleaned the sweat off his forehead and got to work.

He actually did get most of the work done before the night was over, which was not particularly surprising, but he had also reached a point where his cravings had become way too much to stand. When Sherlock walked into the office, as he had promised earlier, Mycroft was tapping his foot on the floor anxiously and munching insistently on a fingernail. He was certain he didn't look his best.

-My, my. Feeling a bit overwhelmed, brother?

Sherlock hadn't brought a human with him. Mycroft almost admitted to himself that he was terribly disappointed. Sherlock had, however, fed again that night. Quite recently too. He stank of blood, of course. Mycroft made a small chocking sound when he picked the odor up.

-Are you sure about dinner, brother? You look a bit weary.

Mycroft tried to wet his lips, but his tongue was just as dry as them.

-Yes.

It sounded a bit like a question. Sherlock chuckled.

-How long are you going to keep this up? You know you are not going to last another night; you are just too spoiled, brother.

Sherlock clicked his tongue.

-You have no control at all.

Mycroft didn't even notice standing up. He didn't decide to do it, but somehow he found himself walking outside of the office. His PA stared confused as he passed by her desk.

-Hold my calls.

Sherlock walked behind him like his shadow. They walked down so many sets of stairs, Mycroft was out of breath by the time they reached the last one.

The wails of the humans inside could be heard through the door.

-I win, then.

Sherlock's smile and his tone of voice were revolting. Mycroft turned to him with his hand already on the knob.

-This wasn't a competition.

-Oh, of course it was.

Mycroft could almost taste the blood in his mouth. He could feel his hand sweating on the golden doorknob, and he knew he was only keeping it from shaking only because it was hanging on to it so tight. He could not control his hunger any longer.

Sherlock kept staring at him. He did not open the door. With a less firm step that he would have wanted, he dashed upstairs again. Once in his office, he locked the door and sat on the couch. His breathing was accelerated and he was covered in sweat. His heart was trying to pound its way out of his chest.

This was only his second night, he thought. His second night and he was ready to beg for blood on his knees. But Sherlock couldn't be right, he had to prove him wrong, he had to. He had to last another night. He would sleep in his office that night; he didn't dare put on foot out. He would be too tempted to go downstairs again.


	5. Chapter 5

By some miracle, he had managed to fall and stay asleep for the entire day. The couch still smelled like blood, though, and as soon as he woke up, he rose to get out of it and open the blinds, feeling a bit lightheaded. The night was freezing cold, and without any blood on his veins, he was feeling it more than ever before. He stood there, staring at his hands, so pale they looked blue under the moonlight. He was certain his face looked significantly worse, but didn't dare to walk to the mirror. He took his fingers to his mouth and touched the thin, cold lips. They were so dry they hurt, and his usually easy-to-hide fangs, were almost sticking over his gaunt lower lip.

He dragged himself to his desk and sat on his chair. He tried to stay as still as possible, but his whole body was convulsing with violent shivers. He buried his head on his hands and contained the groans of misery that tried to escape his mouth. This was just his third night. He wasn't going to make it.

He pushed a small button on his phone. A minute later an unconscious man was on his couch. Mycroft didn't move a muscle when they brought him in. He stared at the man for minutes after they left. He bit his knuckles, he pulled his hair, he tearlessly sobbed.

-This is the cheapest show I've ever been to.

He hadn't heard him coming. How could have Sherlock snuck in on him like that? He wasn't… He couldn't think right.

-You have to admit, you are quite the spectacle.

Mycroft didn't reply. He just went back to staring at the mortal on his couch. Sherlock turned to look at him too.

-He's huge. How much blood do you think there's in him? Enough to satisfy you after three nights? I wouldn't think so, maybe if you hadn't been so generous with yourself lately, alas… Those trousers are still screaming for mercy, even after three days of fasting.

Mycroft took a hand to his growling middle. His own softness and roundness greeted him. Yes, he indulged a bit too much, but right now he felt no shame, no guilt. All he wanted was to sink his fangs in the fragile flesh of a human neck and suck him dry. Gorge on one, two, three of them, feel his stomach bloated and protruding in front of him. Feel liters of warm blood filling him all. He unknowingly licked his lips and Sherlock chuckled.

Mycroft bit his lip. He looked back at his brother and sighed.

-Fine. You win.

He didn't stay looking at him long enough to see the smug smile that was forming on his lips. He dashed past his brother and kneeled besides the human. He didn't wait any longer. His fangs sank easily on his flesh and a river of blood filled his eager mouth. He swallowed, he sucked. He moaned in pleasure as his whole body started to revive. Sherlock said something, but Mycroft didn't listen, he couldn't listen. He kept swallowing mouthfuls with infinite pleasure, feeling his stomach growing heavier by the second. After a while, he started to feel like himself again. With a sigh of relief, he let go of the now dead man, and remained sitting on the floor, his breathing loud and heavy.

Sherlock walked over to him and helped him up. He cleaned the corner of Mycroft's mouth with a handkerchief he found in his brother's pocket. The most devious smile was sitting on his face.

-Well! That was fun. So sorry it had to be over so soon. Then again, you did your best, and it wasn't too bad, considering…

He patted his brother's distended belly.

-Maybe next time you'll make it through a whole week.

His tone was teasing and condescending. Mycroft could feel himself turn bright red with the new blood that was in him.

Sherlock chuckled and exited the office.

-Always a pleasure, Mycroft!

He stood there. He waited. Through the window in his office, he watched his brother leave the building. He ran a hand through his hair and sighed. He had already given in, right? He pushed the small button on his phone again.

-Anthea, have someone come clean up. I'm heading downstairs.

That night, it took ten men to get all the corpses out. Mycroft slept soundly through the day.


End file.
